


the losing game

by Trojie



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Possession, Saving the World, not quite fuck or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles is possessed by something that wants his powers, the X-Men are prepared to go to war to get him back. Logan isn't sure it's a war he can win, but he can sure as shit fight not to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the losing game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [traumschwinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/gifts).



> Not quite fuck-or-die, but that kind of transactional dubious consent issue. For traumschwinge, for the 2015 Secret Mutant exchange. Inspired by the second half of your 'chosen one' prompt, but set in the X-men universe. I hope you like it!

'Are you fuckin' kidding me?' Logan demands.

Charles just looks at him, all Bambi eyes that Logan shoulda learned to resist years ago, God knows he's had enough exposure. 'I have to do this, Logan. It's worth it.'

The claws come out without Logan even noticing until he's punctured one guard so deep he ain't never getting back up again, and -

\- and then it's a fight, a proper, full on. Funny. People always think they can take Logan. People are always wrong. Takes maybe a minute, minute and a half, and the humans trying to protect Charles Xavier from his own kind are no longer a problem.

'Screw that,' Logan growls. 'Look at these idiots. You think they're still keeping the faith, huh? There's no such thing as somethin' worth dying for, Professor.'

'Says the man who can't die,' Charles points out. He raises a hand to his temple, the other to Logan. 'Don't make me do this, not to you.'

'Then don't do it,' says Logan, but he knows Charles is gonna, knows that whatever's riding him, making him this kind of suicidal and stupid, giving him back the ability to walk _and_ his powers apparently at the expense of his rational mind, is going to try it. Charles once told Logan that the inside of his head is a mess, that it's hard to navigate such a tangle of patchwork and duct tape and spit, and Logan figures he can use that. 

So when he feels the first brush of Charles's awareness inside his head, he bulls forward until he can pin him against the wall. 'Stop,' he says. 'This is gonna kill you, Charles, so stop.'

There's something insane in Charles's eyes, and it isn't him. 'There is no stopping this,' he says. 'I don't want - but I _can't_ , Logan. I can't stop this, now it's started.'

He's definitely still fishing around up there, but it's half-assed, like part of him doesn't wanna, and Logan can work with that, that's a start.

'That's not the Professor I know,' says Logan, pushing tighter up against him, trying to stop him squirming free. 'The Professor Xavier I know, he always has a different way. A smarter way. C'mon, Charles, find a smarter way. Something that doesn't involve you makin' me into a zombie so you can get away and turn yourself into a goddamn H-bomb.'

They're so close there's not even a breath's worth of space between them. Charles is hard against Logan's thigh. It's adrenaline. It has to be. 

'Is this smart?' Charles murmurs, so quiet Logan doesn't know if he said it out loud or in his head. Doesn't know if it's Charles or if it's the thing using him.

'Depends what we're doin',' says Logan, rough, catching in his throat, and that's when Charles kisses him. 

'I know I'm not Jean,' says Charles, when Logan wrestles himself backwards, fighting animal instincts and hormones, a lust he's buried for a long time and a compulsion he's a hundred percent sure isn't his. 'But I think perhaps you don't mind that so much, do you?'

Logan's about to deny it, and it'll be a lie but it'll be a lie for good reasons, until he figures it out. This is his leverage. If this is how Logan has to keep Charles from that fucking battle until Rogue and Kitty can make it here, fine. 

Fine.

It's goddamn stupid but Logan doesn't do smarter anyway. 

He puts his claws away and shoves Charles up against the wall. 'You asked for it,' he says when Charles gasps against his jaw. 'Tell me to stop, Professor.'

'No,' Charles grits out. 

Logan lets the power that's ridin' Charles ride him. Stops fighting, lets it take what it wants, because if it wants his body maybe it'll let him keep his mind, just long enough - 

The world strobes, flashes on and off, and Logan's normally the guy who knows exactly what happened; perfect situational awareness, Hank calls it, something to do with being a predator (it's something they have in common, Wolverine and Beast, that thing where they know who's in the room and what they're packing and where they've been, smell and memory and instinct bringing info to the table) but he's lost it now. He's lost, his pants are around his thighs, his hands are on Charles's hips, Charles's mouth tastes of salt and brandy, his fingers are so soft-feeling where they claw meanly down Logan's shoulders, and Logan's shuddering at the feel of his dick riding the groove of Charles's hip, Charles's smearing against his skin. 

Animal instinct, again. Rutting. No time and no concentration for anything more complicated, and never in a million years would Charles Xavier fuck like this. Never. 

'Charles,' Logan rasps out through his dry mouth. 'Charles, I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry,' says the thing wearing Charles's face, digging Charles's fingernails into Logan's skin. 'He wants this.'

'Not with me,' says Logan. 'Charles. I'm sorry I'm not him.' Because Logan hates Magneto, hates him with a deep, low, hot anger that rolls in his belly, but Logan isn't Charles, and fuck knows Logan understands wanting something you can never have. 

Charles, or the thing, or something, chokes, and suddenly Logan's skin is wet and sticky.

'What the hell?' says Kitty, who's just come through the wall. 

Logan does up two pairs of pants as fast as humanly possible while pretending to be wrestling the thing again. It's still trying to get inside his head. He hopes to God it doesn't look like what it is. It probably does. 

He's still hard, under his jeans. Not surprising. Logan's body has never been unsure of what it wanted, and it never asks his fuckin' brain if it's a good idea. 

Charles fights Kitty, but she half-phases him through the floor to get him to stay still, and when Rogue turns up she just touches him, sadly, just a hand on his shoulder until he goes limp, and then Logan carries him out, nose twitching at the smell of him, of come and sweat and somethin' he doesn't wanna categorise as 'evil' but god, it doesn't smell like Charles. Logan knows the smell of Charles, he knows the smell of everyone he lives with. 

'We're going to have to keep him locked up but good,' says Kitty, walking at Logan's elbow. Rogue's on the other side, gloves back on. 'Until Hank can work out how we get … whatever this is … out of him.'

'It's not gonna be easy,' says Rogue, clenching her fists. 'It's weird, ain't like a power at all. More like an infection. I just got the shadow of it, and it's screwin' me up.' She shakes her head like she's trying to get something outta her brain. 'Tellin' you, I don't like it.'

'None of us like it, sister,' Logan says as they reach the X-jet. 'Trust me.'

***

Charles is on lockdown in the medical room. Logan doesn't visit, but Charles calls for him. Says nasty shit, or stuff that Logan supposes is supposed to needle him.

'I know that ain't you, Professor,' he mutters. 'And what, you think I wanna fight you? Why would I want to fight you, whatever you are?'

The replies are obscenities. That's definitely not Charles. And Logan's been sworn at on a daily basis, mostly by himself, for most of his life, so what does he care? He lets it roll off his back.

The calls get quieter. Logan doesn't know what Hank's doing, whether it's the treatment helping or just that Hank's improved the psychic shielding on the medical room, who knows. He's trying not to be involved. He's already been way too fucking involved, and it sickens him. 

The calls stop, after a few days, and he doesn't know if that's better or worse.

He doesn't want to think about it. He tries to train, and guts a punching bag that wasn't made to be resistant to sharpened adamantium. 

It's when he's leaning against the wall, forehead against the ripped leather and claws buried inches in the drywall, that a soft, hoarse voice in his head says, _'Logan. Logan, stop.'_

'Shut up,' he growls. 'Not talkin' to you.'

_'It's me, Logan. Charles Xavier.'_

'Fuck off.'

_'I will be silent when you stop destroying my house and attempting to destroy your body,'_ the voice says, in measured, delicately humorous lecturing tones that are eerily like the real Professor. That shitty 'chosen one' mind parasite has got better at imitation, Logan guesses. 

_'I am not the mind parasite, which is a very good way of summarising it, thank you. I am myself again. Hank's treatments and Rogue's help have freed me. And I wish to thank you, although I understand if you don't want to see me for a while.'_

Logan growls and shoves his claws deeper into the wall, punching hard, and then pulls free. He spins on his heel. Behind him, the gutted bag drops with a thunk and the silvery noise of the rest of the sand escaping seems too fuckin' loud.

_'Logan? Thank you.'_

'For what?' Logan demands. 'It was a delay tactic, Professor, if that really is you. It was all I could fuckin' think of, going along with that thing, and I've done a lot of bad things in my time, but that? I'm havin' a hell of a time walking away from having done that.'

_'If you had not given it what it wanted, it would have used my powers to take your mind, and then who knows where this would have ended? Logan, you did the right thing.'_

The thing about the right thing is that sometimes it feels just like the wrong thing, and goddammit but Logan still wishes deep fuckin' deep down, that he didn't feel things at all, that he could go back to when his dogtags were all he knew about his past and his claws were all he had.

But he can't. And he can't make this go away either. 

'I'm still sorry,' Logan says.

_'And I'm still thankful._


End file.
